Bring on the Bowie/Crosby duet

It’s the first Saturday of December and we’re jumping in full bore. This morning we’re going to take our kids + a friend to the local Christmas Parade. Willow is a participant (which means that Sophie will have to march alongside her or the whole damn town will be sorry about it).

After that, we’re going to drive up into the mountains (a whole 20 minutes from here) and cut down our tree. I just, as in right now just, realized that will mean we’ll have a skeletal, shedding, brown fire-hazard come the Big Day. But if we don’t do it this weekend, then we have to wait 2 weeks and I have a feeling that two weeks from now I’ll be a Christmas shrew and I’d much rather have the kids bring a memory of a dead and scraggly Christmas tree (Remember that year?) with them to adulthood than always remember that time their mom screeched at them the whole time they put decorations up and then made them all go play outside in the cold so she could stay in and drink her hot toddy in peace. (It’s my hope that they were all to young to remember that particular year.)

I’ve been through the holiday season with a full time job before, and I’ve done it for the last few years with four kids, but this year the gauntlet has been raised (thrown down? whatevs) and I’m feeling more than a little panic in my belly every time I look at a calendar. It helps when I remember to b r e a t h e and the breathing will be even more effective if I ever get over this cold. Right now the b r e a t h i n g triggers the c o u g h i n g, which is disappointingly UNsoothing.

Alrighty, then. I’m going to finish my coffee, get myself and everyone ready, and go descend on the parade. I’ll bring my camera and my breathing and my back up good mood. Pray for me.